Chapter 11
Just as Lizzy said, the dining table that day was covered with dishes—mostly meat.
The main course, a perfectly grilled steak seasoned with rich spices, melted in Agnès’s mouth. It was so tender and flavorful that she almost felt guilty eating it under the current circumstances.
I wish I could feed this to Noah too… I want to bring him back soon.
The image of her little boy, his chubby cheeks full as he chewed happily, brought an involuntary smile to her lips.
To Agnès, who had lived a joyless life, Noah had been nothing short of a miracle—a blessing she didn’t think she deserved.
By the time she finished eating, her face looked noticeably brighter, warmed by good food and tender memories.
But she quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
Sitting here sulking won’t solve anything.
Dylan’s spies at the Overhan estate might not uncover everything. I should organize what I know.
For instance, that hidden room behind the Count’s bedroom…
There were many things she’d learned over the years—not through curiosity, but by accident. Overhan had treated her as his property, not as a wife, often revealing things in front of her simply because he didn’t consider her a person who could see or speak.
“Miss! Miss Agnès!”
A familiar voice called out urgently behind her.
Turning around, Agnès saw Lizzy running toward her, her face pale and anxious.
Something was wrong.
Lizzy was cheerful and lively, yes, but never careless—especially not while working inside the duke’s mansion. For her to be running meant something serious had happened.
Could it be news about Noah?
Heart pounding, Agnès gathered her skirts and met the girl halfway.
“Lizzy, what is it?”
Lizzy tried to catch her breath before blurting out—
“My lady, an extremely important guest is coming here—right now!”
“An important guest? Who?”
“I don’t know! The head maid told me to hurry and help you get ready! But she looked terrified, my lady—absolutely pale!”
Agnès froze for a moment, then her stomach sank.
There was only one person who could make even the head maid turn white with fear.
The Emperor.
Specifically—Kali Harkvitz, the Emperor and Dylan’s half-sister.
Agnès swallowed hard.
She’s here for me.
Just yesterday, Dylan had met with the Emperor at the palace. There was no reason for the ruler of the empire to suddenly drop by the very next day unless there was another motive.
It would’ve been easier to summon me to the palace… so why come here in person?
Her mind raced as she hurried back to her chambers.
She had to change, to fix her hair—anything to make herself presentable.
When she arrived, the room was already full of maids bustling about, as if preparing for battle.
They weren’t dressing her up to look beautiful—they were dressing her to look like the Duchess of Basteron.
By the time the Emperor’s carriage passed through the mansion’s gates, Agnès was ready.
Standing at the entrance, she waited as a single elegant carriage rolled up the drive. It was not ostentatious, but the craftsmanship spoke of wealth and authority.
When the door opened, a woman stepped out—one who bore such a striking resemblance to Dylan that no one could mistake their shared bloodline.
Her long black hair was tied high in a ponytail, and she wore a neat pair of trousers, the kind one might ride a horse in. She looked more like a confident knight than a monarch.
Yet even taking a single step onto the ground, her presence was overwhelming.
Her blue eyes shone with both dignity and warmth, a regal charisma that commanded respect without a single word.
Agnès bowed deeply, lowering her knees, waist, and head in one graceful motion.
“Agnès of House Everchen greets Your Majesty the Emperor. I am truly honored by the privilege of your visit.”
Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
Of all days, Dylan wasn’t home—meaning she had to face the Emperor alone.
Perhaps Kali had planned it that way. Perhaps she wanted to see for herself what kind of woman had captured her brother’s attention.
“If you act that formally, everyone will guess who I am,” the Emperor said lightly. “I came in a plain carriage precisely to keep things discreet. You may raise your head.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, there it is again—‘Your Majesty.’” Kali chuckled. “Well, I suppose it’s too late to hide.”
Her smile was bright and easy, like a refreshing breeze. Yet no matter how casual her tone, Agnès remained composed and proper.
To the Emperor, that was… boring.
Most people panicked in her presence, or babbled nervously to fill the silence. But this woman? Calm, quiet, polite.
Pretty, yes—fragile as a winter flower—but nothing extraordinary.
So this is Dylan’s type?
Kali tilted her chin thoughtfully. She honestly didn’t know. To her knowledge, Dylan had never shown interest in any woman before.
Maybe I should tease her a little.
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile as she brushed her hair back. Agnès kept her head politely lowered, silent and still.
Kali wanted to see if she could shake her composure.
“Agnès Everchen… Wasn’t it Overhan before?”
The surrounding servants stiffened.
Everyone knew about Agnès’s divorce — it had been one of the juiciest scandals in high society. But for the Emperor to bring it up so bluntly? No one could tell if it was casual or cruel.
Eyes darted nervously between the two women.
But Agnès only smiled softly and inclined her head.
“It is the greatest honor that Your Majesty remembers me. Unfortunately, my ties with Count Overhan have ended, and I’ve reclaimed my family name.”
Her posture was straight, her expression serene. There was no hint of shame or discomfort—no trace of the woman who’d once been publicly cast aside.
She stood there not as a victim, but as someone who had moved on.
“Ah, I see,” Kali murmured lazily, like a lion amused by its prey—but she wasn’t done playing.
“So… you must have been preparing to return to your father’s house, then?”
The message was clear, and everyone present understood it.
The Emperor knew everything—that Agnès had divorced, that she was staying here under Dylan’s protection, that she was being treated as the lady of the Basteron household.
And this question wasn’t really a question. It was a challenge.
Do you really think you belong here? Do you dare act as if you’re the Duchess?
The servants stood frozen, heads bowed, terrified to breathe too loudly.
Agnès had always seemed so gentle—soft-spoken, mild, never one to raise her voice. No one would’ve blamed her for crying or fleeing the scene.
Even Sharon, the head maid, looked tense, biting her lip. Should she intervene? Or would that only make things worse?
But then she caught sight of Agnès’s hand.
Still facing the Emperor, Agnès subtly gripped her skirt—just enough for Sharon to see the small, firm gesture.
It was a signal: Don’t interfere.
Sharon swallowed her gasp and quickly looked down, pretending she hadn’t seen.
Even so, she couldn’t help worrying.
Agnès looked so young—too pure, too delicate. Her porcelain skin and soft golden eyes made her seem barely older than a debutante, not a woman who’d endured betrayal and scandal.
How could someone like her hope to calm the Emperor’s temper?
One wrong word, one empty flattery, and she’d be done for.
Even Gaveline, standing nearby, was sweating despite his composed expression. He’d always spoken reverently of the Emperor—but now, he seemed to remember just how intimidating she really was.
But Agnès…
She was not quite the fragile creature they all assumed.
With unshakable grace, she dipped into a flawless curtsy — one so elegant it could only have been perfected through years of practice.
Then she lifted her head and smiled, clear and calm.
“Your Majesty must care for Lord Dylan very deeply.”
